


World Tour

by jujubiest



Series: Barry Loves Harry [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Barrison Prompts, M/M, Speed Dating (pun intended)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from gobblepotfans on tumblr: I have no idea if Harry was given a tour but can we have Barry taking Harry sightseeing or giving him a tour of (your choice)?</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Tour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gobblepotfans](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gobblepotfans).



> It slightly bothers me that Barry has SUPER SPEED and he doesn't do anything irresponsible-yet-harmless with it, like use it to take any of the billion people I ship him with on a really cool date. So here, have this.

It starts, as most bizarre and awkward situations he finds himself in seem to, at S.T.A.R. Labs. He's been spending most of his time there lately, running on the treadmill, working the lingering soreness out of his legs and back...and trying to increase his speed. He needs to be a LOT faster if he's going to have any chance of beating Zoom.

Iris and Joe have been taking turns with Caitlyn and Cisco on monitoring his progress. Privately, Barry wishes they would all just leave him alone. He doesn't know what's worse: Caitlyn's worried frown or Iris's encouraging smile.

He doesn't know how to explain to them how helpless he feels in this situation, how terrified he is of facing Zoom again.

When Dr. Wells had called Jay a coward for his refusal to face Zoom, a guilty part of Barry had privately agreed with him. He didn't understand how someone who’d had this gift, who’d been the _Flash_ , could just turn their back and hide from something like this when so many people's lives were at stake. He couldn’t imagine himself doing such a thing.

Now he understands all too well. You can't protect anyone if you're dead. One round with Zoom nearly finished him off…and Jay said he’d faced Zoom _several times._

The next time he sees Jay, Barry owes him an apology.

In the meantime, he’s been pushing himself extra hard. He’s been staying in the lab later and later, running until his legs are shaking, determined to build up his endurance as well as his speed. And tonight it appears Iris isn’t in the mood to sit around for six hours and watch him run. She waves him off the treadmill after two, to tell him she’s going home.

“And you really should, too,” she says as she pulls on her coat. “You’ve been at this every day since you got the feeling in your legs back, running till you’re ready to drop. Being exhausted isn’t going to help anyone, Barry.”

He sighs. He _knows,_ and he tells her as much, his voice sharper than he really intended. This earns him her patented Understanding-Yet-Unimpressed Iris stare.

“Well if you _know,_ then act like it,” she shoots back. Then her face softens. “The rest of us wouldn’t have to spend so much time worrying about you if you’d just take care of yourself.”

“You’re not the only one spending way too much time in this lab,” she continues as she gathers up her stacks of papers covered in sticky notes—she’s taken to bringing her work with her when she comes to the lab. “I know _I’m_ ready to see almost any other room in any building in the world right now, and I’m only here in the evenings. And…”

The last word is drawn out and left hanging in the air, her voice taking on a speculative tone that Barry knows all too well. That tone always seems to lead to him getting roped into things like overambitious school projects and blind dates.

“And…?” He prompts, knowing he shouldn’t. Iris is looking thoughtfully toward the hallway leading to Cisco’s private lab, where Barry knows Harrison Wells is still working away tirelessly, trying to figure out why his speed-dampening serum didn’t do anything to Zoom.

“Iris?”

A slow smile spreads across her face. She tilts her head meaningfully in Dr. Wells’s general direction, communicating her intent with her eyebrows.

“Iris, no,” Barry says, alarmed. Her face falls.

“Oh, come on, Barry! He’s been cooped up here for _weeks._ He hasn’t been outside practically since he got here. He needs to get out, and so do you! Stretch his legs, see some sights. Take him on a tour of the city or something!”

"Did you forget that he looks exactly like a somewhat _infamous_ mad scientist-slash-murderer who nearly got Central City sucked into a black hole?” Barry reminds her needlessly. “Everyone within a hundred miles of here knows his face, and he’s supposed to be _dead._ It’s not like I can take him to Jitters after work and then go for a stroll through the park! If anyone saw him—“

“So? Take him out of Central City, then. It’s not like you’d have to _drive._ ” Barry looks at her like she’s lost it.

“I am not carrying that guy all over the planet,” he says emphatically.

“He’s staying here voluntarily to help us,” Iris counters, equal parts firm and coaxing. “Instead of doing what I’m sure he’s _dying_ to do every second—go home and look for his daughter. So maybe you should treat him a little less like he’s under house arrest. You’re so gung-ho on all this running, take it cross-country. I dunno, go to Coast City for pizza. Just feed the man anything but another Big Belly Burger.” Bag finally packed, she turns to go.

“And for god’s sake,” she throws breezily over her shoulder. “Get him a change of clothes while you’re at it. He looks like you during your sad emotional hoodie phase, except that he’s about three and a half decades too old for that to be excusable.”

“Iris—“ he calls after her. She keeps walking, her voice echoing back from the hallway.

“Nope. No arguing. Go!”

Barry sighs, defeated. He turns toward Cisco’s lab, contemplating. _He’s probably just gonna bark at me to leave him alone._

Somehow, he doesn’t think Iris will accept that as an excuse for failing. He rubs both hands over his face, wondering—not for the first time—how he gets himself into these situations. He could always just go home…

He turns and heads for Cisco’s lab.

The sight that meets him is surprising. The lights in the room have been dimmed slightly, and there’s some kind of simulation running on the main monitor, emitting an eerie blue-green glow. Wells is napping on a cot in the corner. The cot’s way too small for him, his legs dangling well over the end of it. It doesn’t look very comfortable.

Barry pauses in the doorway, considering just sneaking out and letting the guy sleep. Iris would understand why Barry doesn’t want to wake him if she saw him like this. Even in sleep, his face looks drawn and tired, the shadows under his eyes dark and pronounced. His hair is even more disheveled than usual, sticking straight up from his forehead. Barry’s almost made his mind up to turn around and go when Wells speaks.

“Are you going to linger in the doorway all night, Barry?”

Barry starts, looks up to find those tired, shrewd eyes open and fixed on him. He feels caught. They’re so _blue._

He smiles sheepishly, forcing his eyes to drop from Wells’s and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hey,” he says. “Uh, sorry. To wake you up, I mean.”

He groans inwardly. What else could he have meant?

“I wasn’t really sleeping,” Wells says, sitting up and swinging his legs around with a quiet groan. “Just resting my eyes while this simulation finishes running.”

“Yeah?” Barry asks. “What is it?”

Wells stands and heads over to the monitor, beckoning with one hand for Barry to join him. Barry moves to stand beside him and examines the screen more closely than he had before.

“I’m trying to discover the _why_ behind the _how_ of Zoom’s resistance to my serum. If his power works the same way as yours, and as Jay’s, it should have slowed him down more than it did. The only other explanation is that it doesn’t work in quite the same way. He might not relate to the Speed Force the same way the two of you do…he might not even be part of the Speed Force at all.”

“Okay,” Barry says slowly, understanding. “So what could it be, then? There’s no question the guy’s _fast._ ”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Wells says, a slight edge of desperation to his voice. “That’s what the simulation is doing…running different configurations, manipulations of the laws of physics that would explain what else his ability could be, if it’s not speed.”

“That’s…kinda awesome,” Barry says, feeling an odd mixture of sad and impressed. It’s exactly the kind of thing their other Wells—Eobard—would have thought of. He wonders, sometimes, just how much of Eobard Thawne was the thoughts and feelings left over from Harrison Wells. This Dr. Wells is so different, and yet sometimes he does and says things like this, and…it’s like he’s looking at all the best parts of the man he once thought of as his mentor again.

It hurts.

“Yes,” Wells chuckles, breaking into Barry’s morbid inner tangent, “if it works, it will be.”

“So…how long will it take to run?”

“Probably another ten hours, at least,” Wells says, and he sounds as exhausted as Barry feels.

“Okay. Well uh…the reason I came in here was actually…Iris may have pointed out that you haven’t really…been outside at all since you got here. Except to deal with Zoom stuff. But she said that doesn’t count. So she kind of made me promise to take you to get some food other than burgers…and some clothes?”

She didn’t make him _promise_ exactly…but he figures maybe it’ll carry more weight if Wells thinks she did.

If Barry didn’t know better, he’d think Dr.  Wells was trying very hard not to laugh at him. There’s something in his eye, and when he speaks, there’s a definite undercurrent of amusement to his tone.

“Some _clothes_?”

“Uh…yeah…she may have compared your current look to a sad teenager going through that ‘nobody understands me’ angry poem-writing phase?”

At that, Wells actually _snorts._

“Wonderful,” he says. “My fashion choices have been critiqued by the media and found wanting. I think this is the first time that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah,” Barry chuckles. “Iris doesn’t pull her punches. But I think you look fine…I mean good. I mean…your clothes look good. Fine! There’s nothing wrong with them.”

He’s babbling, the way he usually only does when he’s trying to talk to girls other than Iris or Caitlyn. He can feel splotches of red appearing on his face and neck. _Wow this is awful._

“I’m just gonna…go,” he stutters, turning to make a hasty retreat. He’s stopped at the door, though, by Wells’s voice behind him.

“Where are we going?”

Barry looks up at him over his shoulder, face asking questions he’s afraid he’ll just jumble up if he tries to actually talk again. Luckily, Wells takes mercy on him.

“Miss West is probably the only person here who doesn’t treat me like the ghost of Christmas past, and her regard seems to be going a long way toward keeping your foster father from trying to shoot me again. So, I think I’ll do what she says.”

“Oh,” Barry blurts, surprised. “Okay…uh…so…where d’you wanna go?”

Wells spreads his hands. “It’s your world, Barry. I just got here. Do you have pizza?”

Barry smiles.

“We have the best pizza _ever_ ,” he says. “Uh…it’s kind of a run, though.”

Wells smiles—a real smile, the first Barry’s seen on his face. It’s tired, and the worry isn’t completely gone from his eyes…but Barry feels something in him stutter at the sight all the same.

Iris was right: the man’s been sitting in that room all alone for the better part of the last month, avoiding everyone as if he knows how much the very sight of him still offends them. He probably _does_ know, come to think of it, and Barry feels bad about that. This Wells is just a man trying to help his daughter, and he’s done nothing but try to help them too since he got here.

Barry feels a sudden need to make it up to him, accompanied by a strange and uncomfortably familiar clenching sensation in the vicinity of his chest.

 _Oh no,_ he thinks. _Iris…what have you gotten me into?_

* * *

 

Three hours later, they’re sitting in a little hole-in-the-wall called Mustafio’s, sharing a monstrosity of a pizza.

“So how’s this compare to Earth-2 pizza?”

“Surprisingly…about the same,” Wells says between bites. “It seems our earths are fairly similar in many ways. Although I personally don’t recall ever ordering a pizza with quite this many peppers.”

“I know, right? This thing has so many veggies on it I think it might actually be good for me,” Barry quips, and Wells chuckles.

“After the four double-sausage, double-pepperoni pizzas you just put away? I somehow doubt it.”

“Hey,” Barry says, playfully defensive. “I burned a lot of calories getting here.”

Wells nods in rueful acceptance.

“I’d hate to see your grocery bill every month.”

“It’s not all that bad, actually,” Barry starts. “Cisco made these—Dr. Wells?”

“Now they definitely do not have that where I come from,” he says absently, staring at something behind him. Barry turns and follows his eye line to see a guy in the back corner biting into the corner of a huge, golden calzone.

“You’re kidding,” Barry says. “You mean you’ve never had a _calzone_?”

“Is that what that is?” Dr. Wells replies mildly, raising one eyebrow.

“You mean to tell me that in all of Earth-2 history, nobody ever looked at a pizza and said, ‘I think I’ll fold it in half’?”

That surprises a huff of real laughter out of Dr. Wells.

“Apparently not.”

“Well, that won’t stand,” Barry says emphatically, getting up. Dr. Wells looks up at him in bafflement.

“Where exactly are you going?”

“To correct one of the universe’s great injustices,” Barry says gravely, “and order you a calzone.”

Dr. Wells shakes his head and turns his attention back to his pizza as Barry goes to get the attention of the man behind the counter.

* * *

When they’ve finally eaten their weight in pizza—and one calzone—and paid, it’s nearly midnight in Pacific Time…which means it’s almost 2 a.m. in Central City. Barry knows they should get back and both try to get some sleep…but he hesitates outside the pizza place. Wells looks at him questioningly.

“I…so just pizza in one city’s not much of a world tour,” he starts. Wells raises an eyebrow and makes a show of checking his watch.

“We still have about six hours before the simulation finishes up,” he says blandly. “Is there something else I should see?”

Barry can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He knows he’s in trouble but he’s having a hard time caring. This is the first time in weeks he’s felt _good_ about running, _wanted_ to run instead of feeling like he had to. This is the first night in weeks he hasn’t spent lying awake in bed, fighting down the panic in his chest threatening to smother him. He knows the second he goes home it’ll come back, and he welcomes the distraction—any distraction, even in the form of a face that is at once painfully familiar and strange, tired blue eyes and tousled black hair that curls stubbornly upward in every direction before the wind has even given it an excuse.

He can think of any number of reasons why the direction his thoughts are taking is unhealthy and messed up. But when Wells pulls the yellow suit back on for their next run and stands there looking awkward and defensive, all Barry feels is a small bubble of laughter fighting its way up and out of his throat.

“You look ridiculous in that suit,” he blurts out without thinking. He means it as a compliment, but it probably doesn’t sound like it, if the way Wells’ face closes down is any indication.

“No, no,” Barry says, still laughing a little. “That’s not…I mean…you have no idea how many nightmares I’ve had about the man who wore that suit before you. The sight of it used to terrify me. But you…you’re not scary at all!”

Wells surprises him with a smile that nearly blinds him. It’s not just happy, it’s somehow _triumphant._ As though the thought that he can somehow undermine the man who used his name and face to hurt so many people gives him a sense of accomplishment. Maybe it does.

“When you’re done laughing at me, Barry,” he says, chiding but good natured, “I’ve always been curious…can you speedsters run over water?”

Barry’s eyes gleam with golden lightning.

“You bet I can.”

* * *

Another three-hour sprint at just under Mach 2 later, Barry finds himself standing on the edge of a dense forest, squinting through the dazzling mid-morning sunlight at the water cascading down the sheer cliff face into the tourmaline waters below.

“This is breathtaking,” Wells says beside him, stating it like a plain fact. Barry has to agree.

“I saw pictures of this place in National Geographic when I was a kid,” he says softly. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’ve always wanted to come here.”

Wells graces him with a wry, crooked smile. “Nearly a year with super speed and you’ve never used it to impress some pretty girl by whisking her off to some exotic locale for a date? No Paris for dinner?”

“So you guys have Paris,” Barry quips. “And…no. Just you to Coast City for pizza.” He knows exactly how it sounds, and he stares resolutely out over the water, determined not to sneak a glance at Wells’s face in that moment. The other man makes a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, but he doesn’t say anything else.

For a while they just stand there, soaking in the natural serenity of the place. The silence between them is easy, as comfortable as conversation over pizza. Barry can count on one hand the number of people he can just be quiet around, and still have a few fingers left to spare. He didn’t expect Dr. Wells to be one of them, but finds himself glad that’s the case.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Barry finally turns to Wells with a smile of his own.

“I should probably get you back. Your simulation’s gonna be done soon.”

“Right,” Wells says softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “Of course.”

* * *

A streak of lightning whips through S.T.A.R. Labs at around 9 a.m., abruptly resolving itself into the form of Barry Allen once it reaches Cisco’s lab, and depositing its armful of Dr. Wells carefully on the cot. Barry can hear Cisco and Caitlyn in the Cortex, and he motions for Wells to change out of the yellow suit as he zips in to leave his own suit on its mannequin and change into his regular clothes. Then, with a hurried good morning to a somewhat baffled Caitlyn and Cisco, he jogs—at a regular human pace—back into Cisco’s lab to find Dr. Wells in the act of pulling on his customary black sweater. Barry groans.

“Oh no.”

Wells pauses with the shirt half off. “Something wrong, Barry?”

“I totally forgot,” he laments. “Iris told me to get you some clothes.”

Wells’s smirk is hidden as he finishes pulling on the shirt. “That’s not on me. I did what I was told.”

Barry glares at him, without any real heat.

“Maybe I’ll tell her you distracted me on purpose.”

“Me? Never.”

“You. Always.”

They grin at each other, and there’s a moment of strange, almost-awkward silence. Then Wells is crossing the room, closing the distance between them until he’s standing over Barry, looking down at him with a real sparkle in his eye. He doesn’t look tired now. He looks…well, Barry doesn’t want to read too much into it, but there’s a warmth in that blue gaze that he can’t completely dismiss.

“Thank you, Barry,” he says softly. “For the distraction. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“Anytime,” Barry rasps out, voice gone suddenly husky for no apparent, logical reason.

The ghost of that first real smile flits across Wells’s face, there and gone.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, and it has the tenor of a promise.

Then he turns his attention to his simulation results, and the moment is over. Barry turns and heads for the Cortex, feeling lightheaded and more relaxed than he has in weeks, and already planning another midnight jaunt with Dr. Wells in his head.

_Damn it, Iris. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I am in so much trouble._


End file.
